Ethereal Fantasy
by Obsidian Blade
Summary: AU: After a raid attack leaves many dead, Bulma, a soul-calmer, finds business in a village. But her task is much harder than she expected and, with the introduction of the tyrant Frieza to the picture, things are getting out of hand...
1. Prologue

Okay, I started this fic nearly a year ago (19/11/03, to be precise O.o) but got hit with a sudden love for Pokemon that gave me Teh Block in all my DBZ fiction. Which was a shame. Still, I'm back on track now and managing work on Pokemon and DBZ fairly well, so all should be spiffy. Who knows. Anyway, I just want to say that the first bit of this prologue isn't too good 'cause it's old, but the first chapter shouldn't be so patchy. Also, this fic contains violence and swearing... could you folks do me a favour and mention in a review if you think I should up the rating? Because I'm kinda twitchy about that. :/ Last but not least, well, enjoy!

**Summary:** After a raid attack leaves many dead, Bulma, a woman good at calming the dead, is called into a village far into the forest. But her task is much harder than she expected and, with the introduction of the tyrant Frieza to the picture, things are really getting out of hand! B/V with some K/18, G/CC and maybe L/T 

**Rating:** PG-13 for violence and Nappa's dirty mouth :P 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DBZ. I don't make money from writing this either so don't sue. I do, however, hold claim over this fic and any of my own created characters and situations, so no stealing, either.

**Ethereal Fantasy**

By **O**bsidian **B**lade 

**Prologue**

**Pages:** 10 _

* * *

She let the door slam shut behind her, stepping outside onto the path lined with skulls as she made her way towards the village square. The sky was stormy and oppressive, leering down at her as she shuffled along, doing her best to ignore the heads of the dead. With her grey woollen cloak wrapped up and around her head, Son Chi-Chi was barely recognisable. Her shining black hair and youthful form hiding behind the veiling cloak, she might as well have been an old woman beneath it. A terrified, shaking old woman. _

Finally, after what seemed a decade of walking along the skull-lined path that twisted and turned, Chi-Chi found herself in the village square along with the remaining third of the villagers. They were all crowded around a huge pile of corpses, people Chi-Chi knew well who now lay motionless, their eyes rolled back in their heads and maggots spewing from their open jaws. And standing atop that gruesome pedestal, its long, wormlike tail lashing at the air behind it, stood a demon, its malicious gaze flashing from person to person.

'It's evil, it's so evil,' she thought, the tremors that ran through her body intensifying. 

"It is time to build into a new era," the demon roared, its fists clenched and raised to the stormy heavens, "And we shall do so on the backs of the fallen!"

'I'm going to faint; please don't let me faint, I don't want to…'

"And the next body… shall be yours!"

Fangs bared in menacing delight, the creature stabbed its damning finger right at her, right at Chi-Chi herself. And she let out a scream, long and shrill, because it was her fellow villagers that turned around to add her to that pile, her neighbours and her friends…

Black eyes snapped open, their whites shining in the silvery moonlight that snaked its way through the window. Son Chi-Chi slowly sat up in bed, her plain cream nightgown sticking to her shivering sweaty flesh. 

_'It's just a dream. It's just a dream!'_ she frantically assured herself, brushing one slender hand through her raven coloured hair. 

Glancing down at the peaceful face of her sleeping husband, Chi-Chi carefully levered herself out of bed and dropped her pale feet onto the thick boards of the floor. With dull thudding footsteps she made her way over to the dirty paned window and shoved it open, ignoring the squeaky protests of old hinges. A cold breeze swept into the room, raising the woman's long hair from her shoulders and darkening the colour in her cheeks. 

"Cold tonight." she muttered to no one in particular, hunching her shoulders a fraction higher. 

The moon hung high in the sky to her right, its light glinting like blue steel on the flat faces of the tough leaves of a large expanse of foliage to the left. The breeze sent ripples through the sea of blue and black shapes, making the trees almost seem to sing.

Chi-Chi started to sink into the cradle of her arms on the windowsill, the plant's chorus soothing her ragged breaths. She and her husband, Goku, had chosen this house over the only other available when they came to the village for its positioning on the edge. Although they were not exactly outcasts from the other residents (in fact, they were the opposite - their neighbours could not have asked for better company and companionship), the Son family always had liked the living side of Earth. And it was not like they were alone either. They were right near the others; the only difference was that they had the trees at their back rather than another stout stone building. 

Chi-Chi's eyelids were drooped to the point of near closure when she heard the first noise. She blinked blearily an lifted herself up a bit.

_ 'Alright, what was that?' _she wondered angrily, staring down at the sea of grass and leaves beneath her.

No change greeted her searching senses, the song of the trees floating up to her like always. Shrugging it off, Chi-Chi started to walk back to the bed when it came again. The leaves still rustled, but not in the normal wave-like way. 

Her brows knitting into a frown, she went back to the window. 

Her eyes widened. 

Below the staring woman orange flames flickered through gaps in the canopy of leaves. They moved forwards, bobbing like deranged fireflies, until a thick leather boot was extended slowly into the light. It was followed slowly by the rest of a beefy looking man and his flickering torch. In his other hand he carried a heavy-looking iron spear, the blade too dirty to even reflect the light of the flames. 

His shaved head swivelled around cautiously, bright black eyes glinting amber in the fire's glow as he checked the rest of the village for sentries or security. 

"Cummon boys 'n' girls," he growled to the trail of torches that stretched out behind him through the black, "Whatever's theirs will be ours by daybreak."

An excited murmur of agreement passed back through the ranks and hey started to move out further into the open, each revealing more and more wicked-looking weapons to Chi-Chi's terrified eyes. 

One of the invaders smirked, "How about this house then, since it's so close."

"Oh kami…" the woman watching above whispered, creeping back from the window, "Goku? Goku get up now!"

"Huh?" a sleepy voice wondered.

"Just get up!" his wife hissed back, "Vegeta was right."

The man was up in an instant, sweeping his thick, wild, black hair out of his face with one well-muscled arm.

"How d'you know?" he asked, his thick eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement.

"Remember how we found those fire circles a few days back and Vegeta wanted us to set up a sentry watch in case they weren't just passing merchants?" sweat was beading up on her face, the skin pale and drawn as she clasped her hands together in fear, "Well, they're attacking us now! They might get our… Oh god, Gohan!"

She made a run for the door, but Goku caught her in his arms.

"Don't worry Chi, I'll stop them from getting anywhere." he promised, "But everyone else in the village doesn't know. They might get…"

"…Their throats cut in their sleep." his wife replied, twisting out of his grip, "I'm not about to stay here while-"

She was cut short by a loud banging on the front door, followed by the smashing of wood as someone forced it down. Giving Chi-Chi one last desperate look, Goku sprinted off in the direction of the noise, grabbing a long, thick staff as he skidded through the bedroom door and out onto the landing. Now that the door was down, the bandits had quieted down some, although he could still make out the muted sound of boot soles on floorboards and glimpse the flickering orange of their torches through gaps in the planks between his feet. As Chi-Chi dashed past him, darting into their young son's room as quietly as she could, Goku shifted the shaft of nyoi bo in his hands. Now or never…

Taking a deep breath, Goku let out a yell and stampeded down the stairs, bringing his weapon smashing down into the head of an unlucky raider before the heavily muscled man had even registered the threat. Muttering out a prayer to Kami for the man as he fell heavily onto his own blade and convulsed his way into death, the defending male leapt over the body and swung hard at another bandit as she ran into the room at the noise of her companion's fall. 

"What…" she started, her dark eyes darting from the determined visage of Son Goku as he missed her by an inch to her associate's motionless form.

The scraggy blonde's eyes narrowed and she pointed one long, dirty finger in her opponent's direction.

"Charge him!" she ordered the gaggle of armed men and women who had gathered behind her.

Torches and blades held high, the brown leather-clad thieves did exactly as they were told. In retaliation, Goku did the only thing he could: fight. 

Without sentries and guards to stop them, the dark-clothed bandits spread through the village like a plague, completely unchecked. So caught up in the heat of the raid, not one of the pilfering fiends noticed the single pale-skinned boy as he was lowered out of a window in the house nearest the woods by his teary eyed mother. Although absolutely terrified, Gohan knew what he had to do. Shivering in the nighttime cold, the nine year old gave his white pyjama bottoms a tug and sent his mum a shivering wave. As his father had done before diving into the thick of things, the youngest Son took a deep breath before running flat-out from the cold stone wall of his own house. He carried his body as low as he could as he ran, doing his best not to break down into hysterical tears as he darted into the shadow of their closest neighbour's house, only to be greeted by the sound of screams from within. 

Biting his lip, Gohan flattened himself to the wall and crept along, his dark eyes flicking about nervously in search of danger. Peering around the far corner of the cottage, he sucked in a sharp breath as a raider swaggered past only a few feet away, waving his burning torch like a flag. A tear trickling down his cheek as the screaming was suddenly silenced, the boy took his chances and dashed out into the open yet again. And again. And again. Refusing to let himself lag, Gohan's face had transformed itself into a tear-stained mask of determination as he made his weaving way towards the house on the hill. Despite the occasional cock-up, the bandits had somehow managed to keep their colossal raid fairly quiet. If it weren't for the torches and the occasional short-lived scream, not to mention that the squire himself had been the one to predict all this, Gohan might have had a hard time convincing Vegeta that they were being raided at all.

_'That's it, I'm nearly there.' _Gohan comforted himself as the ground started its sloping assent into a hill.

He was so close; although tired and horrified, he only had three more houses to dash between before he would reach his final goal-

"Hey, somebody stop that kid!" an angry sounding voice cried from nearby.

With a terrified yelp as he realised that, in his final-stretch bliss, he had kept running rather than checking for any enemies, Gohan risked a look back. Scowling back at him was a short bandit, his orange skin and long, white hair set aglow in the light of his torch as he pointed out his target. Another humanoid bandit, made terrifying by its red eyes and the curved cutlass it clutched in one blue, clawed hand, gave a war-whoop and charged up the hill towards the petrified child.

Jerking his head to face the way he was running, Gohan staggered over the broken splinters of a smashed barrel he had just blundered into. In a blind panic, he kicked his feet free of the constricting wood and metal before forcing his screaming muscles to carry him at top speed up the ever-increasing incline.

"Wait up, little kiddie!" a cruel voice guffawed from behind him, trying to entice the young villager to turn around and loose even more valuable time.

Feeling the tears starting to run again, Gohan did his best to blink his vision clear as he ploughed up past the last house separating him from the mansion. 

However, the last stretch was the longest; like the Son family, the squire's home had a good one-hundred metres separating it from any other building. Gohan didn't think he could make it, his lungs were burning up in protest so that he could barely breathe and his legs… the muscles felt as though they had been pumped full of his mother's infamous spicy stew. Throat raw and stinging, Gohan stumbled and gasped up the slope with fading hope.

_ 'I can't make it… I just can't… But I have-'_

Before he could even finish that thought, the boy let out a blood-curdling scream as he was tackled from behind. With the blue-skinned bandit's weight holding him into the grass, all he could do was scream and wriggle as the grass tickled his throat and a badly-placed rock buried itself deeper into the soft flesh between the bones in his knee.

"Gotchaaa…" his attacker boasted in a sing-song tone, "Now, what would an innocent little child such as yourself be doing running up a big hill like this-" Gohan let out a squeak as he felt cold steel press menacingly against his bared neck, "-in the middle of the night, hmm? Anyone might think that you were running for-" 

Gohan buried his face in the dirt and grass as a harsh _twang_ sang out from ahead, accompanied by a sickening thud as a crossbow bolt imbedded itself halfway up the shaft in the raider's forehead. Instantly the man's body went limp, his head lying slack on his shivering captive's shoulder as all his weight went towards crushing the boy flat. Whimpering and shivering in horror, Gohan could not even raise his head as heavy footfalls strode towards him at an alarming pace. Sobbing uncontrollably, he winced as the dead body was lifted off him, nightmarish images of yet another bandit slashing him apart in revenge running through his mind like wildfire. Instead, however, a familiar gruff voice woke him from his stupor as he found himself shaken back into the real world by an enormous hand. 

"Get up, NOW." The voice commanded as that same hand contracted on his shoulder and forced Gohan to his feet in a show of amazing strength.

Blinking through his terror, the boy found himself staring at the giant of a man who had just saved him. Standing in at about 6' 8", he was built like a brick outhouse and carried a monster crossbow in one hand. Thrown hastily over one shoulder was a quiver and the fact that he had just been woken up in the middle of the night was reflected in the presence of a loose white nightshirt over his muscular chest and the riding trousers pulled haphazardly over his hips. By his bald head and thick black moustache, Gohan recognised him as Nappa; Vegeta's groundskeeper and personal servant. Nappa was gruff, bad-tempered, foul mouthed and excellent at getting the job done. Although he was not much use as a social companion, he was good at everything else his job entailed and had worked at the manor from long before Gohan was born.

Although it was a well-known fact that Nappa was not a big fan of kids, the huge man managed to produce a mutilated smile in an attempt to ease the Son boy's nerves. To someone who didn't know the guy, the expression probably would have scared them away but Gohan recognised the gesture and offered him the most thankful look he could conjure under the circumstances. 

Suddenly the sound of a door slamming was heard from the mansion entrance, causing Gohan to jump three feet into the air.

"You were right, sir." Nappa called without turning around.

A small thatched house belonging to Krillin the blacksmith had just been set alight and the flames sparkled in the servant-cross-bodyguard's eyes as he watched the building quickly turn into a seething inferno.

"From the look of it, they must be near to one hundred strong." He continued as a few vague figures dashed from the burning house, bags of loot on their backs.

The heavyweight man narrowed his eyes as the roof suddenly collapsed in but, to Gohan's relief, a short and definitely bald figure flung himself through the door before his house was destroyed completely.

"One hundred? I doubt it."

Vegeta himself had arrived beside them, his flame of ebony hair seeming almost blood-coloured in the abnormal light. One of the sole surviving members of the Order of the Saiya-jin, the village squire was short but tough with dark olive skin, brooding black eyes and a powerful body. His forehead was usually contorted into a frown or scowl, his snarling disposition only amplified by his striking widow's peak. Wearing his well-worn black boots, a dark blue pair of trousers tucked into the tops, a loose white cotton shirt with the cuffs undone and a pair of dark brown hide gloves that followed every contour of his hands, the only sign of fatigue was the slightly glazed look to his normally eagle-bright obsidian orbs and the way that his sword belt was sagging off one hip, having been buckled up one hole too loose. Stuck in his faded pyjamas, Gohan felt the first pangs of embarrassment at the squire's well-kept appearance. 

"But sir-"

"More like fifty, maybe sixty if we're unlucky." Vegeta's head jerked sharply around as his eyes settled on Gohan, whose teeth had started to chatter. "Why're you here, brat?"

The boy jumped at his elder's rough tone and it took him a second to answer as he caught sight of the orange-skinned bandit disappearing between the houses.

"I, uh, came to w-warn you about the attack." He stammered uncomfortably, "My mother sent me…" 

Vegeta gave him a strange look, one that the boy could not quite decipher, before drawing his razor-sharp blade. Without warning, he started to stride down towards the destruction.

"I have a new task for you," he informed Gohan over his shoulder, "Ring the warning bell; I want everyone awake who isn't already."

The thought of more dashing between shadows, no longer protected by the two well-trained Saiya-jin warriors, chilled Gohan to the bone.

"B-but, mister Vegeta…" he started, only to be cut off in mid-sentence.

"Nappa, accompany him." The man ordered, adding, "And no buts." when his huge guard opened his mouth in protest, "They'll want to stop the bell." 

Leaving the two males to do as they were told, Vegeta continued down the hill, his blade at the ready. The scent of blood and burning was already thick in the air, although not as overwhelming as the fear flooding in from everywhere. As a warrior, he found it easy to pick out the locations of his clumsier bandit opponents, so when a man with his brilliant red hair tied into thousands of tiny braids leapt out to attack it did not surprise the squire in the least. Bringing his sword up into standard attack stance, he did not waste a second in reversing the raider's attack right back at him. In a flash he had torn an angry red slash straight across the other fighter's chest, revelling in the shriek of pain the strike brought out before bringing his weapon down into the collarbone. There was a wet crack and Vegeta shoved the dying man down into the dirt with one foot as he tore his sword free, whirling to parry a strike from behind by a more agile female.

She struck hard and fast, light on her feet as her twin daggers flashed at the squire. To her dismay, however, Vegeta blocked every blow with ease, catching one strike on the pommel of his weapon before smacking away the second with the flat of the steel. With an enraged look on her face, the girl pulled back and aimed to strike again. But she found herself foiled again as sparks flew from the deflected blow. With a simple and well-executed strike as his opponent staggered back, Vegeta slashed open the woman's belly and sped away before the reek of split intestines could register in his mind. 

With his normal battle ferocity, Vegeta fought his way deeper into the town. By the time he reached the centre many of the houses, silos and shops were up in flames and the squire's blade was slick with blood. But not as much as it would soon be - the bandits, in a bold move, had piled all of their newly acquired loot in a massive pile of clothing, food, furniture, jewellery, pottery, cutlery and generally anything they could get their hands on. Surrounding the pile stood the raiders themselves, a motley group armed with anything from battered old swords to maces in pristine condition. To his relief, Vegeta saw that none of them were equipped with bows and arrows, although their numbers were almost as high as Nappa had guessed before and still growing. They were congregating on this one point, leaving the houses a wreck as they prepared to slay any challenger. Wrinkling his nose, Vegeta realised that if he were to attack them alone he would be that slain warrior. That was when the nearest raider yelled out and pointed: he had seen the squire. Stepping forwards and snarling at the wary man, the bandits made it obvious that they did not want him there, not alive, at any rate. 

"Hurry up, you!" Nappa growled as he paced back and forth beside the ladder leading up to the lone bell.

Too large to fit through the trapdoor at the top, the giant warrior had been forced to make himself content with stomping back and forth and yelling orders. Because Gohan had so far failed to produce much more than a tiny jingle was starting to make him think that his action was not better than nothing.

"I can't do it!" cried Gohan, sounding miserable.

"Well just keep trying!" came the instant and irritable response.

Standing on his tiptoes, the end of the rope pooled around his feet, Gohan pulled with all his might. Although it creaked loudly and bits of rust rained down on the young boy's head, the bell stayed still and useless. With all the stress that had assaulted him already, the urge to give up and cry was strong. Letting his legs give way, Gohan hung by the rope and stared out through a wide hole in the roof. Through it, he could see the moon shining like a great silver beacon just before it was swallowed by a swath of dark grey clouds. Shutting his eyes, the boy was not in the least bit surprised when the first raindrop fell through the hole and splattered on the thick iron of the warning bell.

What started as one drop swiftly escalated to a heavy shower that slammed into the bell and straight through Gohan's pyjamas, soaking him to the skin. Releasing the rope, he spared a glance back to the village, trying to ignore the strings of curses coming from Nappa down below.

"Nappa!" he yelled, trying to take the fighter's attention away from the fact that he was being soaked to the skin, "The rain might put out the fires!"

An angry snarl was what he got in reply, "Shut your trap, boy! The last thing I need is your optimistic bullshit while I'm being fuckin' soaked! Put out the fires, my arse. Hmph." 

Blushing at Nappa's language (Chi-Chi had forbidden even the most innocent 'damn' from her household ever since day one), Gohan peeled his eyes away from his home and back to the rope. The hinges were getting wet too, so maybe they might be persuaded to move now? Wrapping his blistering palms around the only way to alert the sleeping villagers to the threat of attack, he pulled and strained. 

"Awww, DAMN!" came Nappa's rough voice from below. Not sure what the surly man was swearing about now, Gohan continued to focus his attention on pulling. It was a tiny movement at first, but he was certain that it was starting to give, starting to swing…

_ Twang._

He stopped dead, the sound of his own heart so loud in his ears he wouldn't be surprised if all the bandits heard it from miles around. That sound… Nappa's crossbow… 

Releasing the rope and the results of his hard work, Gohan crept over to the trap door and eased it open, peering down at the man beneath him. Nappa had his bow up and aimed, firing off one bolt before slamming the front of the bow into the ground to grab another arrow and crank it into place. Raising the weapon again, he shot down a raider who was mere feet away, blood spattering onto his face and chest. Glancing up as he went back to the painfully low process of reloading, the bodyguard spotted Gohan with ease.

"Forget me!" he commanded angrily, "RING THAT BELL!" 

Actually more afraid of Nappa's wrath than the bandits themselves, the young villager let the trapdoor shut with a snap and crawled back to the rope. Fear, real fear, was fuelling his efforts now as he tugged on the rope and the results were noticeable. The bell began its lazy arch, swinging further and further with each pass by Gohan's straining body. It swung higher, just as Nappa let out a horrific bellow, and Gohan felt the difference as it met its goal.

_ 'Ga-dunk, ga-dunk,' _it started pitifully, becoming stronger and stronger with every swing, _'Ka-dunk, ka-chunk, ka-chang, ka-CHANG, ka-CHANG!'_

Wanting to laugh with joy at his own success, Gohan found himself limited by the fact that he was on the verge of tears and still ringing the bell. He kept pulling, it kept ringing and, through the gap between each _ka-CHANG,_ the soft _twang _of Nappa's bow was occasionally heard. Finally, having seen lights brighten up the windows in the east, still safe section of the village, he let go of the rope and let the bell swing itself into silence. 

Without thinking, he swung open the trapdoor and swung himself onto the rungs of the ladder, climbing down to the older man… who was laid out on his back, chest spurting blood and a bandit bent over his prone form. The raider, the same man who had ordered the blue-skinned fiend after Gohan earlier, threw his long white hair over his shoulder and glanced up just in time to see the boy's stunned face as he tripped from the ladder. 

"Run, brat." Nappa wheezed, the crossbow just out of the reach of his huge hand.

Staring at the raider, Gohan did no such thing. He just felt fury. Nappa wasn't someone he knew well, but he had been protecting him! This guy, this thief…

"Oh, is the little boy frozen with fear? What a shame…" the raider laughed, his hardened leather breastplate creaking as he straightened up entirely, revealing an unnervingly handsome face twisted and corrupted by that leering smile. 

Bravely, or perhaps just stupidly, Gohan leapt forwards, snatching the hilt of a knife he saw glinting at him from the top of the bandit's boot. The rain drilling down on his head as he rolled out from under the shelter of the bell tower, Gohan slipped in the mud and found himself on his knees, the blade of the stolen knife flashing up of its own accord just in time to block that of his enemy. He let out the tiniest of wails as the vibration of impact shot up his arm but held true, just managing to fall out of the way of a second attack. Hissing with fury at being avoided twice, the other man slashed out wildly, slicing off a tuft of Gohan's jet-black hair as he ducked in fear. 

"You can't win by dodging all the time, kid!" Nappa spat out along with a gout of dark red blood, "Attack him!"

Although uncertain as to how to attack, Gohan nodded quickly and leapt forwards, arm and knife outstretched. The bandit seemed pleased with this; stepping forwards and performing a cut so swift Gohan never saw it coming. With a yelp, he found his arm bleeding from wrist to elbow and his weapon arm caught against the bandit's side right side.

"Scared yet?" The guy chortled over Nappa's angry roar, digging his elbow into the tendons in his captive's arm, causing him to drop the ill-gained knife.

Gohan whimpered in pain, his eyes widening even further as he saw Nappa stretch himself forwards, fingertips just brushing the butt of his crossbow.

"Well, you should be. Anyone who's anyone should be afraid of the mighty Jeice." 

With a hard kick to the child's stomach, Jeice sent the boy into a spasm of coughs, laughing as Gohan brought up blood. Before the villager could even catch his breath he found himself bodily thrown into a tree, stars spinning behind his eyelids as his stomach heaved. Grabbing whatever stamina he had left, he heaved himself onto all fours and launched himself on the advancing Jeice, sending the man toppling backwards in surprise. Before he could do anything in retaliation, the overconfident bandit found himself pinned to the ground as Gohan scratched at his face and eyes, locked in a sudden frenzy. Letting out a strangled squawk, he gathered legs beneath him and kicked Gohan clear off his chest. Sitting up, he prepared to finish off the little brat when a furious voice sounded from behind him, "Oh no you don't!" 

With all the force he could muster in his weakened state, Nappa swung his crossbow like a club, smashing the solid wooden butt straight into Jeice's head. For a second after hitting the mud, Jeice lay dazed, unable to do anything else. But with the painful return of feeling to his head came the realisation that one or the other of his two enemies would kill him if he dawdled any longer. In an amount of pain he could not even imagine, the orange-haired beast staggered to his feet, flipped off Nappa and lurched off into the woods, aware of the bleeding man's grin of success beaming at his back.

He could not keep this up. 

As a warrior, Vegeta was damn impressive. He'd spent the majority of his life practising under the tutelage of his father, the head of the Order of the Saiya-jin, and had impressive sword skills to show it but this was just too much. It had gotten to the point at which even those he had already slain were problematic. Tripping over one body, he would find his feet just in time to make a hurried parry that threw him off balance again. It had been by luck and luck alone that he had survived this long and now, as the rain came down in great sheets, the squire could feel his luck running out. 

"Vegeta!"

Unable to spare a glance in the direction of the voice, Vegeta had to take his ears' words for the truth about the newcomer's identity: Goku or, as the squire called him, Kakarot. The fact was proven when a flash of solid red wood lashed out and rammed a raider away from the struggling fighter. Rather than asking one of his stupid questions for once, Goku leapt into the fight alongside his ally, who quickly got back into his stride. Together they managed to keep the attackers away, although the majority of the blows were not fatal and neither defender could boast that they were winning. They needed allies but, without the bell to summon the only section of the village that had yet to be attacked, the chances of that happening were low. 

That very thought had barely crossed Vegeta's mind when a soft clunking ring started to sound from the edge of town, growing greater and greater by the second.

"Finally," he muttered, batting off a particularly persistent raider with a well-aimed smack of his sword.

"Yeah," panted his companion, swiping back another opponent, "But d'you think they'll get here in time?"

"In time for what, Kakarot?" Vegeta growled and, with that comment, he suddenly let rip with an offensive streak, forcing himself away from his ally. 

Realising that the squire's actions were potentially dangerous for the both of them, Goku fought to follow the other man, only to be blocked by a living wall of enemies. They had seen the weakness, he realised, and that was why they were working to stop him from closing it. Strongly suspecting that the likelihood of him breaking through and joining up with Vegeta was low, he focused his strength on defending himself for the while; he might just be able to force his way straight ahead and regroup that way.

He was fighting so hard, nyoi bo a mere blur through the air, that he didn't notice the figure at the top of the pile of loot until a shout of pain went up from nearby and the anonymous figure broke into fits of laughter. Although he could not allow himself to falter for fear of being beheaded by one of the many fighters striking out at him, Goku managed to get a glance of a lavender-skinned man with bulging muscles and twin black horns pointing out of the sides of his head. Like the others, this man was kitted out in dark leather, although a long, flowing black cape also adorned his shoulders. He was armed with a huge axe and was roaring with laughter at the sight of Vegeta, one hand clutching a wound on his right shoulder as he strove to defend himself with violent slashes of his weapon.

"What's the matter Vegeta, lost your touch?" the man guffawed, his body shaking with laughter even as the rain splattered down around him.

It all happened so fast: one second Vegeta was wounded but still managing to hold his own; the next he was hurling himself forwards, blade hefted above his head with both hands, leaving his sides completely vulnerable… The caped man's smile dissolved off his face and he screamed out orders to his underlings, words lost to Goku due to a sudden roll of thunder right overhead. In the flash of lightning that exploded from the sky at the exact same moment, he caught sight of Vegeta as he cleaved the leader's head right through the middle, saw the mace wedged in one of the squire's sides and the axe in the other - payments for leaving his flanks so clearly open - and made out the shapes of the warriors of the east side as they added their forces to the cause. 

It was a shame, he decided as a hit to the head sent him tumbling down into darkness, that they could not have arrived a bit sooner.

* * *

**Started:** 19 November, 2003   
**Finished:** 12 August, 2004 


	2. Casualties

Okay, my apologies for the wait. As you have probably gathered, I'm a very slow writer and this chapter is an annoying introductory chapter so it took a lot of work to write. I can't _stand_ introductions. -grumbles- 

Before I go on, a few shout-outs… 

_Marauder:_ Yay, Doop likes it. 'Fraid I suck at the whole "update soon" bit, but you should know that by now, brother of mine. :P 

_Anorake:_ I'm glad you think so. I've been told that description is my forte, probably due to the fact that I used to be so awful at it. -winces- Triple thanks and lots of nice food for reviewing! 

_Jill:_ Thank you. I'm sorry it took so long, but at long last I can present you with the next chapter… 

_Bleeding Stars:_ Wow, I'm honoured that such a talented author likes my story. I can't express how happy I am to hear that it's got you interested, so, er, here's a chapter. Feel free to throw rocks at me if I take this long to update next time, since you've been encouraging people to do the same to you for Black Sunrise. 

_Siara the Black-Winged one:_ Which Pokémon one? I have a few of 'em, y'know. And maybe I did kill Vegeta… but maybe I didn't. I guess you'll just have to read on and see. :P 

_Garowyn:_ Yay, PG-13 is my friend. :D And I have no intention of writing a lemon, being kinda allergic to the things (yeah, I'm one of those people who nearly gets blinded while reading some of the good fics around here and scrolls down crazily to try and avoid being scarred mentally as well), so I'm glad you think the fic's fine without one. Thanks for the review and being the only one who reassured me about the whole rating thing! 

_Acalanthis:_ Uh-oh -has been tracked down and harassed- I really need to get better at posting chapters faster. I'm just going to post this chapter on F.F.U.M.P. too, and I hope you like it… keeping in mind that grief is difficult to portray and introductions suck. vv' Despite the fact that I now have six different people harassing me about various fics of mine, I'm happy that you liked the fic enough to do that. Thank you for reviewing! 

**Summary:** After a raid attack leaves many dead, Bulma, a woman good at calming the dead, is called into a village far into the forest. But her task is much harder than she expected and, with the introduction of the tyrant Frieza to the picture, things are really getting out of hand! B/V with some K/18, G/CC and maybe L/T 

**Rating:** PG for death & character death 

**Disclaimer:** Do I look rich to you? 

**Ethereal Fantasy**

By **O**bsidian **B**lade 

** Chapter One - Casualties**

**Pages:** 8

* * *

The brilliant sunlight beamed down over the rain-freshened forest, the usual creatures going about their daily bustle as though nothing strange had passed through the night before. The single road cut though the vast expanse of green as a winding thread of mud and the only travellers to be seen for miles were a young woman; a canvas-topped wagon strangely decorated with the words "Orikal"; and a bad-tempered black pony that was doing her best to chew through the reins her owner had left sagging. 

The woman, who looked to be about twenty-five, had a slightly worried expression on her pale-skinned face as she tightened one of the back wheels to the axel. Dressed in a plain white dress, black riding gloves and long, black cloak, she cursed the mud repeatedly as she stood up and dusted herself off. 

"Yamcha, is she okay?" she called to a rustling patch of bushes, brushing a lock of shoulder-length cerulean hair out of her bright blue eyes. 

"Yeah," came the response, " 'M just untying her." 

Pushing through the undergrowth, the blue-haired woman peered down at a tall, wiry man as he crouched behind a kneeling female to untie her chafed wrists. The standing woman frowned, "I'll help," before bending down to remove the gag from the girl's mouth. 

"They didn't _do_ anything, did they Marron?" she asked tactlessly, tossing the removed cloth to the ground. 

Marron shook her head vigorously as Yamcha produced a short knife to work on the bindings. 

"They just… just bound me a-and left m-m-me," she hiccupped, wiping her streaming blue eyes with a hand Yamcha had just freed, "S-said they'd… come back for m-me after they'd r-r-raided a village to… to…" 

She trailed off, hanging her head and allowing her hair - a darker shade of blue than the other woman's and longer too - to obscure her face from view. 

Standing with her hands on her hips, the other female watched distantly as their male companion got to work on the burlap binding Marron's ankles together. 

"That means they'll probably be back…" she murmured thoughtfully as Yamcha helped the sobbing girl to her feet. 

"So we should keep moving," sighed the dark-haired man, not looking pleased about the fact. 

"Didn't expect this much work from the job, did you?" the woman commented once Marron was loaded into the back once again and Dolly the pony had been convinced to move, "Thought it'd be some easy money, I s'pose, and you got to travel with two women too." 

Yamcha did his best not to scowl, instead training his attention on the road. 

"Anything for you, Bulma babe." 

Internally he added, _'As long as it doesn't involve being chased by bloody bandits.'_

Bulma simply rolled her eyes and turned away to watch the repetitive scenery roll past. Although she enjoyed Yamcha's company and, admittedly, his flirting too, now was not the time.

_ 'Neither was yesterday,' _she reflected with a barely-smothered sigh.

Memories of digging mud out from around the wheels earlier that morning as well as the bandits' random capture of Marron the night before settled uncomfortably in her mind as they rumbled along. It seemed strange to her that they'd steal only one of three people if they were going to nab anyone… and what about the money and food the "Orikal" caravan was carrying? Bandits were supposedly falling on hard times, or so her father had said months ago, so why on earth had they missed some as-good-as-free resources? 

**

- 

**

By the time the wagon had rumbled into the outskirts of a small village, Bulma had managed to calm her doubts about the bandits enough to take in what was going on around her. The settlement was, to put it quite simply, in ruins. A raven-haired woman could be seen sweeping broken glass out of her front door to the left; to the right a tearful young man carried the body of a five year old child out of a building suffering from severe fire damage. The distinct, sombre sound of a bell could be heard across the village: it was ringing in the slow and steady fashion of a mourning toll. People searched despairingly through the smouldering remains of their homes, pulling out scorched personal possessions and uncovering the bodies of their companions. 

The sight made Bulma feel sick to her stomach: having lived in the relative safety of a huge city for the majority of her life she wasn't used to this sort of raid. She swallowed, noticing the way that none of the people even glanced up at the wagon as it rolled past, and attempted to avert her eyes by looking straight ahead, only to find herself staring at a massive funeral pyre. 

The giant table of gathered firewood squatted in the centre of the village square, a lone man with wild black hair working silently as he piled body after body up into one towering pile. His face was drawn and pale, his lips a thin line as he lifted person after person onto the pyre, and his forearm was heavily bandaged. 

"Are those…" Bulma started in a whisper, staring at the fallen. 

"Bandits," Yamcha confirmed quietly with a curt nod of his head, "They'd rot and cause disease if they were just left lying around." 

Bulma shook her head, "I know that… it's just… How on earth did a tiny village like this defeat practised rogues like those?" 

Yamcha simply shrugged, watching through onyx eyes as the last body - a broad shouldered man with purple skin and sharp black horns protruding from the sides of his head - was lowered onto the top of the pile, a dark cape spread out around him. Pulling back on the reins to halt the wagon, he hopped from the front and approached the lone villager, leaving Bulma to sit speculating behind him. Although he didn't feel particularly confident clad in sweat-soaked travelling clothes of dark trousers, a scratchy beige shirt and a sleeveless brown leather jacket, Yamcha tapped into his charismatic confidence and held out a hand to the taller man. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," he told the guy diplomatically, "We were just passing through, wondered if perhaps there was anything we could do to help?"

The other male appeared to be in a state of shock: he stared blankly at the offered hand for half a minute before finally giving it one half-hearted shake.

"Goku, snap out of it," a rough female voice demanded as a fierce looking blond stepped out from the door of her cottage, "We could do with all the help we can get, and your bloody grieving isn't helping any of us." 

Dressed in leather shoes, a man's dark brown trousers and a light green, short sleeved shirt with a rope tied around her waist like a belt, the woman's intense green gaze showed no sympathy as they flicked over the piles of deceased bandits.

"They were our enemies, anyway. Go mourn someone more worthy."

Shunting him on his way with a flat-handed push against his shoulder blades, the woman put one hand on her hip and held the other out to Yamcha. 

"Launch," she identified herself as, "And you are?" 

"It's Yamcha," he responded, failing to restrain his eyes as they gave her body a quick up-down glance, "And we're just looking for work, y'know, the usual." 

Catching the second look in his eyes as easily as if it were painted on his forehead in bright red, Launch said, "We can pay you, if that's what you're worried about. Krillin the blacksmith needs the most help, so let's get you working." 

** - **

Bulma was nothing short of surprised when Yamcha told her that they were going to do some physical labour for a while, but it was when she saw the state of the smithy that she was truly shocked. Unlike the other burnt buildings, all of which had at least one blackened stone wall still standing, it had been absolutely flattened. It didn't take a genius to see that nothing had survived the blaze, and the fact was displayed all too clearly in the crumpled face of a small bald man who sat on the pile of wood and stone he had amassed that morning. 

The blacksmith looked up as the wagon rolled to a stop nearby, his quick dark eyes darting from Yamcha to Bulma as they leapt off and walked over to meet him. He struck Bulma as the sort of man who'd normally be friendly and grinning, if the fine crinkles around his eyes were anything to go by, but at the moment he was as deflated as the wounded man loading bodies onto the pyre. 

Although she felt inappropriately cheerful as she forced a smile onto her face and attempted to act like normal, the woman was equally certain that adding more depression to the brew was a big no-no. 

"You look like you could do with some help," she pointed out, flopping down beside him on the heap and glancing sideways at him to catch any flicker of emotion. 

The man sighed, "Yeah, I guess I do," his gaze moved past the pretty young woman and focused on something beyond. 

"But not as much as some people do." 

Bulma blinked at him, "But that woman—Launch—she said that you-" 

She trailed off at the warning look Yamcha was sending her, seeing that even Marron had stopped her wailing to poke her head out of the wagon. Turning in the direction they were looking, almost afraid of what she might find, the girl took a quick intake of breath and turned to the blacksmith. 

"I'm so sorry, I didn't…" 

Beyond the burnt remains of the house the dead villagers were being laid out on the grass in ranks by family and friends. Three unhurt men hurled the blades of their shovels into the rain-softened earth with the bitter ferocity of humans weighed down from guilt; Bulma accurately guessed that these were the ones who had slept through the majority of the raid. The sight of those bodies and of the people weeping all around them sent a shiver up her spine: it looked like her _real _talents were going to be wanted here fairly soon… 

"Excuse me…" 

Marron's voice, still hoarse from the gag and two hours' worth of non-stop sobbing, brought Bulma out of her thoughts to find the other woman offering some of her rare intelligent advice to the blacksmith. 

"Shouldn't you be there too?" she inquired sincerely, "Don't you know at least some of them?" 

"I would be but…" he waved despairingly at the debris, further explanation understandably unnecessary. 

"But nothing." Bulma decided stubbornly, getting to her feet, "Krillin, right? Well, with our help your house'll be finished in no time. The funeral **has** to come first." 

Tired from the previous night's ordeal and the emotional trauma of seeing his neighbours carried, dead, from their homes, Krillin found resistance too draining to keep up, especially against this headstrong woman. A relenting nod was all it took to send the four of them towards the patch of ground that would soon become a graveyard. 

The sallow faces of his neighbours were enough to shove the blacksmith's gaze to the ground but that was nothing compared to the sight of the ranks of dead villagers. Their settlement was a small community, where everyone knew everyone else, and yet even he couldn't make out who was who from some of the bodies. They were too badly burnt. 

With a shuddering sigh he joined the mass of onlookers, barely conscious of the presence of the three newcomers behind him, and aimed his gaze at the other men as they reverently lowered the bodies into the crude coffins the carpenter had struggled to produce with only one working arm and on such short notice. Although definitely not the epitome of beautiful, painstaking craftsmanship, the coffins were sturdy and just the right size for each of the dead. It made proportioning easier when you knew each of the dead, Krillin suspected sorrowfully. 

When each body was in its coffin, he stepped out with the rest of the crowd to walk among the rows and say his last goodbyes. Bulma, Marron and Yamcha hung back as the little man struggled with his grief, staring at those he recognised and shuffling shamefully past those too distorted to be named by sight. There was Sarah, the sharp witted blonde who served as Launch's right hand woman in the shop; Josh, the ambitious miller who so often found his hopes dashed against the rocks of his own poverty. Passing through the rows, the blacksmith felt that his heart would burst when the familiarly deep voice of Nappa suddenly reached his ears. To Krillin's surprise, the sturdy man's speech was strangely strained, as though his chest were tense with… 

"No way…" was all he could say as he spun around. 

Utterances of a similar nature stirred up from the other mourners as the huge man made his way between the boxes of the dead and towards the stunned form of the carpenter. In his arms he carried the limp body of a much smaller man. Although the other human's weight should have been easy for the giant bodyguard to bear, Nappa seemed to be fighting to hold him up. 

Standing on the sidelines, Bulma didn't miss the bewildered response of the villagers as this giant of a man passed her. 

"You'll need to build another goddamned coffin," his gravely voice informed the person she'd identified as the carpenter and, much to the incredulity of the other villagers, he dropped the corpse he held onto the moist ground, depositing a sheathed sword at its feet with the same lack of respect. 

The man spun on his heel, his face contorted monstrously, and strode off back into the remains of the village. 

The response of the people was delayed as everyone stared at the departing figure, until the wild haired man of earlier stepped out of line. 

"Nappa!" he called after the other man, but a small hand stopped him from going after him. 

His pale son gazed up at him with wide black eyes, "I think he wants to be left alone, dad." 

Although the look of concern never left his face, Goku let himself be drawn back, only to join everyone else as they amassed around the abandoned body. Even Bulma felt herself being sucked in with them all and soon found herself peering over the shoulder of an old man with creaking joints as she attempted to catch a glimpse of the corpse's face. 

Her task wasn't actually all that difficult; almost as though an invisible barrier were holding them back, the villagers had formed a ring around the body rather than crowd in close, leaving Bulma with a good view of the dead. He was male, that much was obvious, and his chiselled chest was bare aside from a thick swath of bloodied bandages covering wounds that appeared to have ceased to bleed only minutes previously, if the glistening red that remained was anything to go by. Although pale, his skin retained a bronze hue and his hair, which swept upwards from a fierce widow's peak, seemed to simply swallow light. Any sheen it might have once possessed had been stolen by death. 

_'He would have been handsome,' _she speculated as she took in the firm set of his jaw, _'In a regal sort of way.'_

Despite the fact that her observation really should have been complete, Bulma found it impossibly difficult to remove her stare from the deceased man. While her eyes looked on her ears reached out, catching snatches of hushed conversation from the people surrounding her. They were worried, several comments confirmed, and someone was going on about how he was sure "their kind" were cursed. 

_'Their kind?'_ she pondered in confusion, _'What on earth…?'_

Before she could really get her teeth into the mystery, Bulma found herself distracted by the carpenter as he and his son got to work created yet another coffin. They had reached a level of numb disbelief, she realised as they systematically hammered lengths of pine together. It was as though they'd managed to achieve the sort of professional distance doctors and nurses require. 

She blinked, suddenly aware that she shouldn't really be here, and stepped out of the crowd to rejoin Yamcha and Marron. The three of them stood in silence as the villagers placed the body of the man into its coffin and started burying every last one of their deceased neighbours. That done, the mournful crowd dispersed, some back to their homes, some to the aid of neighbours, some to the graves of their friends and family. 

Krillin drifted over to them, his eyes downcast, and sighed deeply. He gathered himself and did his utmost best to raise back that smile he normally wore. It was a watered down version, but it would have to do. 

"Okay guys, I guess we have to get back to work." 

** - **

Although they failed to raise a house out of the debris in one day like Bulma had naively expected them to do, together the three foreigners and one villager had succeeded at clearing the area of rubble and creating the beginnings of a few walls by nightfall. Dirty and tired in a way she had not believed possible, the blue haired woman shivered in the cold night air as she stood on the doorstep of what Krillin had labelled as "friendly lodgings". 

Only seconds after they had knocked, the door creaked open to reveal a pale skinned woman. Her ebony hair was sagging from what would have been a severe bun, her red-rimmed eyes squinting into the night as she tried to place names to faces for the three newcomers and failed. Her attention drifted over to the diminutive form of the blacksmith. 

"Krillin? What are you doing here?" she inquired in a surprisingly steady voice. The man was too tired to look sheepish, "My house burnt down," he informed her, "These three are helping me to rebuild but-" 

He was cut off when the woman stepped out of their way, holding back the door and gesturing for them to come in. 

"My name's ChiChi," she told Bulma, Yamcha and Marron as she led her new houseguests through into a quaint wooden kitchen. 

A sturdy wooden countertop line the wall with the window, an iron stove with a pile of timber in the far corner and a pale wood table sitting in the middle of the room. 

"And this is my family, my husband Goku and son Gohan," the woman continued, gesturing to the two people who sat in the plain wicker chairs that were drawn up to the table. 

Bulma instantly recognised the older man as Goku, the one they had seen stacking the massive pyre with bandits. Although his brow was still folded in sadness he seemed to have shaken off the worst of the shock that had desensitised him earlier and he looked up as they entered, going so far as to offer them a welcoming smile. Even when his eyes were so full with anguish the expression seemed much more natural on his face, and Bulma was aware of Krillin loosing some of the tension in his shoulders at the sight of it. 

The boy, Gohan, sat across from Goku and kept shooting the strangers curious looks, as though he was too shy to talk and too polite to stare. His black hair was cut short but displayed some of his father's tenacity against the brush even when wet and his dark eyes peered out from beneath a stray lock of damp charcoal black. A towel around his shoulders protected his modest peasant's clothing from getting wet; from the iron tub of cooling water beside the stove it was easy to deduce that he had just spent some time cleaning up. 

"They'll be staying with us for a while," ChiChi informed the two briskly, disappearing into a side room only to return with four more chairs to add to the big table, "If you could lay out some sheets on the spare beds, Gohan, I'd be very grateful." 

The boy instantly jumped to his feet and hurried upstairs, happy to be of use and wanting to make a good impression on the people from out of the village. The adults could hear his feet padding about on the floor above as they all took their seats. 

"Introductions might be nice," ChiChi suggested after a minute of sitting in silence, tracking the whereabouts of her son through the ceiling.

"Oh yeah, where're our manners," Yamcha exclaimed, giving the woman his charmer look which she promptly ignored, "I'm Yamcha, leader of our little group and owner of the caravan, and this is Marron," he gestured to the darker haired and more air headed girl before continuing on vaguely, "She does stuff with flowers to make people feel better, and this is Bulma. She, er, well, she…" 

He trailed off, cursing himself silently as he realised he had given away the game too soon. 

"She talks with dead people," he finished finally, his shoulders sagging slightly in defeat. 

"Really?" Goku, who had formerly remained mute, seemed thoroughly intrigued, "How?" 

Bulma felt that unfamiliar feeling of discomfort settle over her at the question and quickly donned the know-it-all arrogance that had guided her through most of her life. 

"Well, it's just a talent. People who are murdered or die too soon tend to hang around so I talk to them to stop them from making pains of themselves," she gave an apologetic shrug, inwardly hoping that they were not judging her as a freak like others before them had done at this information, "I don't know how it works." 

The group once again dipped into silence, the villagers processing this information as ChiChi got up to stir a huge pot of something simmering on the stove. 

"That could be pretty useful, y'know," Krillin commented eventually, "Especially right now with… everything and… y'know," he finished lamely. 

"Only if some of our dead decide to be obstinate," ChiChi responded smoothly, "As for those bandits, well, forget talking to them," her movements as she turned the spoon became more vigorous, "You can just kick their murderous souls to kingdom come."

* * *

**Started:** 12 august, 2004   
**Finished:** 1 February, 2005 


End file.
